


Dreams and Nightmares

by Mendeia



Series: Proximity to Balance [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendeia/pseuds/Mendeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when wars end, they echo long into the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams and Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short one this week, I'm afraid. Some of these are briefer than others. Sorry about that.
> 
> Enjoy!

By the time the five young men who had once piloted Gundams had relinquished their illusion that they were at home anywhere but with one another, taking up Quatre's offer at last to stay with him and forge an oddly compatible family, they had spent many nights together on missions or visits, and it was an open secret that every one of them suffered from nightmares sometimes. They never talked about it because what was there to say? These weren't phantoms of the imagination – these were the images burned in their minds from years of horrific experience.

There was no rhyme or reason to it. It could be right after a mission, weeks since anything more exciting than a papercut, or hours after a truly relaxing afternoon. If there had been a pattern, they might have handled it better.

They ignored the nightmares until they couldn't anymore.

Living in such close proximity, each one of them having trained himself to wake at the slightest sound, no one could pretend they weren't pulled out of sleep when someone crashed back to reality from flame and fear. For weeks, they fell into a habit of listening and doing nothing. Whoever had woken, be it screaming or gasping, crying or frozen, would do whatever was needed to quiet himself and, if not return to sleep, at least pretend to close his eyes until dawn. The other four, all aware, unable to ignore it, would wait and listen until silence fell once more. Often, all five would remain awake together, separated by bedroom doors and too many layers of pain and history.

But one night, something changed.

It was Trowa who bolted upright, fighting the urge to shout and reach for his gun, for he, like the others, kept a weapon within reach at all times – they couldn't not. He ran a shaking hand over his face, but knew, knew without even having to consider it, that he would never get back to sleep. The room was too dark, too close, to empty. He was vulnerable, half trapped in memories of isolation and loss.

So he actually got out of bed and padded down the hall to the nearby lounge.

Just the sight of finding himself in Quatre's L5 townhome, of the stack of Duo's you-have-got-to-watch-this vids and Wufei's fourth spare katana-cleaning cloth on the table, of Quatre's laptop bag and sheaf of papers, of Heero's military-neat shoes lined near the door – it comforted him. It all meant that his dreams were his past, not his present, not necessarily his future. It all meant he was not alone in the night, even as the others had not been alone when he had listened to them struggle with their memories.

It was hours until dawn, but Trowa sat down on one of the soft chairs and reached for his own bag hidden in the shadows anyway. He drew forth a tablet of paper and began to sketch idly, allowing his fingers and his charcoal to draw out the lingering tension in his mind. He didn't care what he produced as long as it brought him calm.

A few minutes later, a sudden noise would have put him on his guard except Trowa knew that sound now as well as he knew his own footfalls. Heero stepped into the room, fully dressed, face unreadable.

They looked at one another for a long time, saying nothing. Then Heero shrugged and moved to the couch, pulling up his own laptop wordlessly. Trowa hadn't asked for company and Heero hadn't offered. They were just being there together. Almost as if it were totally coincidence.

But it wasn't.

From that night on, when one of the five was plagued by nightmares, by unspoken, unarranged agreement, he would spend the last hours of the night not alone or in doubt, but with someone who understood at his side, just being there. They never talked about it, because there was still nothing to say. But it wasn't charity or weakness or failure. It wasn't even strategy, ensuring that if two must be awake, three might know that everything would be all right and could let themselves sleep for the benefit of all the next day.

It was strength, the strength of five who could endure where one alone could not.

They could not stop the nightmares. But they could see each other through until dawn. And it was enough.


End file.
